


Zeeplabor: The Belabored Bootlegger

by DancouMaryuu



Series: Zeeplabor - The Mobile Police [4]
Category: Kidou Keisatsu Patlabor | Mobile Police Patlabor, Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Patlabor Fusion, Gen, Mecha, Police, Real Robot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-10-11 19:32:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17452943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancouMaryuu/pseuds/DancouMaryuu
Summary: When Duke Weaselton steals a truck to make a quick getaway, both of the ZPD's Zeeplabor Divisions are sent to stop him, but even Weaselton doesn't know how valuable the truck and its cargo are, or what it may mean for SV2 as a whole...





	1. "Now, c'mon! Make me an offer!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, folks! I'm back again! Sorry this one took so long. It took me a while to hear back from all my beta readers. I don't fault them; if they need time to whip this fic into shape, so be it.
> 
> So be sure to give HanyouExorcistAlchemist48, SkyeLansing, and Ubernoner a big hand for helping me iron out the kinks for this serial!

_[[OST1]](https://youtu.be/5joig7GE8dg) _

“All yer fav’rite movies! Right ‘ere for ya!” crowed Duke Weaselton. “Whatever you need, I got!”

Thus far, the trade had been working well for the weasel. Usually he bootlegged recent movies, but he’d recently expanded into a new niche: pirating eastern animation. Who knew schmucks would pay so much for the stuff?

He’d eschewed some of the more central locations of Zootopia like Aquavitae Plaza and Old City Hall and instead gone for a spot in the lower reaches of the Rainforest District, adjacent to an up-and-coming neighborhood. Gentrifiers like the ones that lived here were often yuppies that were into the kind of products Weaselton peddled, but putting his back to a ZTA railyard meant that parties that wanted anonymity could approach with discretion.

His mother would’ve reprimanded him for having such a shady occupation, but the last time he’d tried “honest” work, he’d been canned pretty quickly – all that Labor certification had done was take three months of training out of his life, and it hadn’t been _his_ fault those box-beams weren’t secured properly!

Showed what his mother knew! He’d made some tidy profits from bootlegging since then. Weaselton was feeling especially proud this evening because a major eastern animation licenser and a streaming service had recently had a falling-out, meaning mammals used to the streaming service were more likely to turn to piracy.

The weasel began to whistle a few bars from some song from… oh, what was that Gilbear and Sowllivan thing? _The Pirates of Pawzance_? It was truly a blessed thing to be a pirate king.

“Why hello, good sir!” he said to a white-furred wolf that was passing by. Might as well hawk off a few more before turning in for the night. “What can I do ya for? I got all the faves right ‘ere!”

The wolf ambled up to the stand. “E-ani?” he tilted his head.

“Eastern animation, ‘dat is!” chuckled Weaselton.

“I know, I know,” said the wolf. “I’m just wondering what you’ve got.”

“What don’t I got?” Weaselton grinned. “I got, uh… Let’s see…” he pulled out a list of items that he had kept on several flash drives in his pockets. “I got _My Hero Otterdemia_ … I got _Claw Art Online_ … I got _Herd Psycho 500_ … I got _ZZZZ.Gridmammal_ …”

“The new _Gridmammal_ show?” The wolf’s ears perked. “That one’s _insanely_ recent. How’d you manage that?”

Weaselton smirked. “I got my ways.”

“I’m not even sure that one’s licensed…” the wolf murmured.

“Like I said, I got my ways,” said Weaselton, smirk vanishing and brow furrowing. “Now c’mon! Make me an offer!”

“This wouldn’t be…” The wolf leaned in closer. “…’under the counter,’ would it?”

“Whadda you think?” Weaselton scowled. “Now d’ya want _Gridmammal_ or not?!”

“I _think_ …” The wolf suddenly pulled a ZPD badge out from under his jacket, smirking all the while. “That _you_ are under arrest for selling pirated content!”

Weaselton gawked.

_[[OST2]](https://youtu.be/LDbGZLdvfJA) _

Thinking quickly, he hurled a copy of _Wreck-It-Rhino 2_ at the wolf and dashed out from behind the table, making for the open door of a blue semitrailer cab on the side of the road, dashing by the margay that had just gotten out of it. This cab pulled a flatbed that was obviously carrying a Labor of some sort underneath a grey tarpaulin.

The wolf cop barked at him to stop, but Weaselton just pulled the door shut, glad that the margay had left the key in the ignition, started the engine, and floored it, leaving the wolf in the dust.

* * *

“Fuzz!” Officer Dwayne Grizzoli growled as the truck got further and further away. The wolf yanked out his radio. “Officer Grizzoli to dispatch; I got a four-eight-seven; weasel bootlegger just stole a labor-carrier with cargo. Blue longnose cab; license plate: niner-seven-Oscar-Leopard-Yakee-“

“Please. There’s no need,” the margay driver suddenly piped up to Grizzoli. “I-I’m insured. It’s alright!”

“Sir, it’s _not_ alright,” said Grizzoli. “Your truck’s just been stolen, pal!”

 _“Uh, Grizzoli, what was that license plate?”_ Dispatch’s voice came in.

“Sorry. Niner-seven-Oscar-Leopard-Yakee-one-four,” replied Grizzoli. “Heading eastbound on Monsoon Road- _hey!_ ” Grizzoli noticed the margay making a mad dash for the alley.

The wolf sprang into action, his longer legs making up the distance, and leapt at the margay.

* * *

“So we’re chasing a _stolen_ stolen truck?” said Judy as she clambered into the labor carrier’s cab.

“Pretty much,” said Clawhauser, squeezing in beside her. “Apparently an IWF sympathizer nabbed the truck, then got it stolen right from under him.”

“What kinda Labor was this truck carrying?” said Nick, making his way to his command car.

“No word on that yet,” said Captain Bogo, opening the door to his smooth-top cruiser. “But Division 1’s already been sent out. For some reason Buckminster wants us out there too.”

Judy’s nose twitched. Why send out both of the ZPD’s Patrol Labor Divisions?

* * *

“Be ready for anything, you guys,” said Captain Polecatsky, looking down the road where she knew that the truck would be coming. “We just know that the truck’s carrying a Labor. We don’t know what else it’s carrying.”

Division 1 had been set up behind a police roadblock on the A15 highway that cut through the Rainforest District. Even at night, the heat and humidity were enough to tighten the officers’ unease.

Looming over her cruiser were Division 1’s two venerable CPL-97S Python Zeeplabors. Compared to the Ingrowl, the Pythons were stockier and bulkier, and had no firearms. They featured a lightbar attached to the back, an even more generic muzzle on its faceplate, with a larger protective metal visor that sat atop the rounded head when not in use. The cockpits of the Pythons also provided less protection. Their pilots had to rely almost exclusively on direct visuals to operate their machines.

 _“Still wish we had better equipment,”_ grumbled Lieutenant Marvin Sanderson from Division 1’s Labor Unit 1 – marked 211. _“I mean, if he’s got something_ really  _bleeding-edge, we’re pretty much screwed without D2’s Ingrowls.”_

Hopefully not for long, thought Polecatsky. There were rumors that Bureau Chief Buckminster and the city were looking into acquiring replacements for the Pythons. Thus far, she hadn’t been told anything to either confirm or deny it.

 _“Barker-Four-Four to Caravan 1,”_ squawked Polecatsky’s radio. _“Suspect is approaching your position. Get ready for action.”_

“This is Polecatsky; I copy,” responded the skunk. She then shifted her channel to contact her subordinates. “He’s coming now. You two get ready.”

_“Yes, ma’am!”_

* * *

Weaselton kept his paw on the gas as the truck surged forward. One advantage to stealing such a big vehicle was that the police found it hard to stop it without causing severe damage, so they kept their distance.

However, the only problem was, it was difficult to drive this thing in a pursuit without attracting attention. He had to find a way to take cover so he could make a getaway on foot.

Just then, he noticed the roadblock up ahead. The weasel’s blood ran cold. The truck could probably ram through the three cruisers blocking the highway, but the two Zeeplabors were something else.

Weaselton began to slow the truck down, hoping to find an opening.

* * *

“Get ready to grab the truck if need be,” said Polecatsky.

The semitrailer drew closer and closer. Polecatsky’s cruiser, as well as her Division’s command cars, was located off to the side of the road.

The skunk noticed the truck begin to slow down. “Okay, get in and arrest its movement,” she ordered.

The two Pythons ambled forward cautiously. In the cab, Weaselton swerved, hoping to try and make a break for the soft shoulder. Spike McTachy’s Unit 2 (marked 212) tried to reach for the cab, but was too slow and accidentally reached for the trailer instead.

_[[OST3]](https://youtu.be/qrywmAXTxvk) _

Suddenly, movement came from underneath the tarpaulin, and cords holding the tarp in place snapped undone as the Labor’s arm abruptly swung out. Unlike many construction Labors, it had four-fingered hands, which it used to grab the Python’s leg, holding it long enough to send it tumbling backward, then dragging it along the road a short distance before finally letting go.

“What the hell?!” McTachy sputtered as his Python tried to get up, but found that its leg mechanisms had been damaged from being dragged.

Sanderson’s Unit 1 also stepped back. “Is that even a civilian Labor?!” the sand cat growled.

Polecatsky stared, jaw hanging open, as one of the cruisers forming the roadblock moved away in a panic, allowing the truck to pass them on the highway.

The skunk then reached for her receiver. “Polecatsky to all points; the Labor in the truck has a pilot. I repeat; the Labor in the truck has a pilot!”

* * *

“What?!" said Lee into her receiver. She and the rest of Division 2 were decking up on the A15 a short distance away from Division 1. They were in the midst of establishing a second roadblock.

Bogo had been called to Precinct 34, which was acting as a temporary headquarters for coordinating police response to the incident. Polecatsky would later be called in as well.

“Here it comes,” said Hylander, rocking Beaverbrook’s carrier as Unit 2 hastily stepped out of the payload bay. Hylander quickly pulled out his revolver cannon.

“Hylander, don’t shoot,” barked Lee.

More of the tarp’s wires came undone as a sleek, white-and-blue machine started to raise itself from the bed of the still-moving truck. This machine had slender limbs and an angular design. Its head featured a mouthplate and a metal visor with three slits in it.

In the cab, Weaselton sensed the movement of the rising Labor and tried to ensure the truck didn’t swerve out of control. This ironically caused the semitrailer to move more erratically as he overcompensated slightly.

Judy’s Unit 1 unsheathed her machine’s stun-stick and charged forward, but the unknown Labor swung its arm at her, giving her machine a clothesline, knocking Robin onto its back.

Stunned at what had just happened, Unit 2 stood back, letting the truck pass.

Clawhauser’s carrier passed in front of Robin. “Hopps, get on,” the cheetah said into his radio. “We can still chase ‘im!”

Judy complied, making Unit 1 clamber into its carrier’s payload bay. Unit 2 did the same, climbing into Beaverbrook’s carrier.

“Alright, let’s get moving!” said Judy as her carrier motored after Hylander’s, followed by the two command cars.

The enemy Labor’s semi had a long head start, so the pilot of Labor itself didn’t seem that unnerved by the two carriers. Still, Weaselton kept his pedal to the metal in the cab.

“You’re cleared for firearms,” said Lee into her receiver. “But use caution.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Hylander fired off two shots – both missed.

“Damnit,” growled the hyrax, trying to raise his machine higher to get better aim. However, just as he did so, his monitors quickly shifted to static. “The hell?!” he sputtered.

“Congratulations, Hylander,” groaned Nick. “You just got decapitated by a stationary object.”

Sure enough, as Hylander had raised Unit 2 up, Beaverbrook’s carrier had begun passing under an overpass. Robin had ducked down, but Unit 2’s head had been smashed clean off after connecting with the side of the bridge.

“Idiot,” muttered Lee.

Hylander raised his cockpit, now relying on “direct” visuals.

The two carriers began to gain speed on the stolen truck as they entered a tunnel that ran through Bromeliad Ridge, which divided the Rainforest District from the Meadowlands. The errant Labor turned itself around on the trailer to face the pursuers, legs dangling off the back of the trailer.

“Try and take out its arms,” ordered Lee.

Judy fired a shot from her revolver cannon and missed. In the semi’s cab, Weaselton’s heart skipped a beat when the speed of the passing giant bullet crazed the passenger-side window.

_[[OST4]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aQkyhCQhNvo) _

Then, a compartment opened on the enemy Labor’s right shoulder, from which it drew from this compartment a large, Labor-sized pistol – a revolver cannon.

“Oh, no…” muttered Clawhauser.

“That thing’s armed?!” squeaked Beaverbrook.

“He’s bluffing,” said Nick. “A Labor in transit wouldn’t carry loaded weapons.”

The enemy machine had obviously not heard Nick. It tried to steady the gun before pulling the trigger. A loud bang filled the tunnel, and the lightbar on Unit 1’s right shoulder was sheared off by the gunshot.

“He was bluffing, huh?!” growled Judy. “He was bluffing?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **  
> **  
> BACKGROUND MUSIC:  
>   
> 
> 1) Toshihiko Sahashi - "A Vision" - from _The Big O_
> 
> 2) Toshihiko Sahashi - "Touch" - from _The Big O_
> 
> 3) Micheal Giacchino - "Hopps Goes (After) the Weasel" - from _Zootopia_
> 
> 4) Kenji Kawai - "Calamity Approaches from the Underworld" ("Ikai Yori Kitaru Tensai") - from _Earth Defense Dai-Guard_
> 
>  
> 
> **  
> **  
> NAMES:  
>   
> 
> Dwayne Grizzoli: You're probably wondering why I made Grizzoli a wolf. Well, in the movie, when Bogo hands files to "Officers Grizzoli and Delgato," it's a lion and a _wolf_ that pick up the file. Originally, I was willing to ignore the idea, but then I saw fanart of Grizzoli depicting him as being adopted by a bear father, so the idea of "Grizzoli" being the wolf became more palatable.


	2. "Unbelievable...!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! No background music this time. In fact, I might cut down on BGM in future chapters, or (if it comes to it) rewrites of past chapters.

“What do we do?!” moaned Clawhauser. “We aren’t trained to deal with Labors packing heat!”

“Pull back. Let’s give it some space ‘til we get out of this tunnel,” ordered Lee. “Hopefully we’ll have a plan then.”

The two carriers began to slow down just as two more shots rang out from the rogue Labor’s gun. Thankfully, both missed the Ingrowls, but one struck the roof of the tunnel, causing debris to fall in front of the ZPD carriers. Clawhauser and Beaverbrook hit the brakes instantly – the latter’s trailer coming within inches of the rubble. The two command cars came to a halt soon after.

“Ribbons,” Lee seethed.

“Look at this shell!” Hylander’s Unit 2 had stepped off its trailer, picking up a spent cartridge that had come from the enemy Labor’s revolver cannon. “This is _not_ 38 millimeters! This has got to be 40- no, 42!”

“42 mil?” groaned Nick. “Who made that thing?”

* * *

“Megafauna Enterprises?” said Bogo.

“Yes,” said Bureau Chief Buckminster, now standing in the Captain’s office at Precinct 34 with his two Captains. The furniture in this precinct had obviously been designed for larger mammals, so Polecatsky looked uncomfortably small. Captain Emma Couguarez of Precinct 34 was also present, as was Sergeant Frank McHorn, representing Precinct 1 – the inter-Borough precinct.

Buckminster continued. “This could have major ramifications for Special Vehicles, particularly for your Division, Polecatsky.”

“How come?” the skunk raised an eyebrow.

“The Labor in question…” explained Buckminster. “…is an MRX-70, a prototype police patrol Labor that was on its way to Megafauna’s proving grounds on the outskirts of the city. The truck was _first_ stolen a few hours before this weasel character got involved. The original driver was found bound and gagged in a gas station janitor’s closet.”

“A police labor?” said Polecatsky. “Are you saying that…?”

“Yes,” said Buckminster, glancing down at Polecatsky. “The city’s considering phasing out your Division’s Pythons in favor of the MRX-70.”

“Oh…” Polecatsky averted her eyes. So the rumors _were_ true.

“Yes, I have the paperwork right here,” said Buckminster, handing Polecatsky a thick wad of forms.

“So we’re up against bleeding-edge police hardware in the hands of unhinged IWF terrorists?” McHorn moaned, the rhinoceros burying his head in his hand.

“In a nutshell,” said Buckminster, crossing his arms behind his back. “But we may not be alone. Megafauna Security Services has offered their assistance.”

“The makers?” said Couguarez, the puma’s tail twitching. “What have they got?”

“Well, the new Growl-Bears, for one,” said Buckminster. “Not up to the Ingrowl or MRX-70, but sufficient. They say they’re still mobilizing-“ The elk broke off. “Do you have a problem, Bogo?”

Buckminster had caught the sound of Bogo snorting.

The buffalo sighed. “I’m just unsure about involving private parties in this chase, sir.”

“Considering how new this Labor is – not to mention well-armed,” said Buckminster, “I’m not taking any chances. Besides which, we’d have to wait for a Code 37 form approval from the Otterside County Police if this truck gets past city limits. MSS doesn’t have to worry about that.”

“Sir,” said Bogo. “This was exactly the sort of thing Code 37 was designed for. We’re the only Zeeplabors in the country.”

“I’m sorry, Bogo,” said Buckminster. “But unless Otterside County asks us directly, you’d have to file a Code 37 request yourself, and that would take time.” Buckminster’s eyes narrowed. “Besides which, they might not approve of having extra Labors gallivanting around their territory.”

Bogo grimaced. No doubt a PR junkie like Buckminster was thinking of the negative publicity from Division 2’s first few deployments. He probably figured it was best to wash his hooves of the matter by passing the buck onto MSS.

“You think he’ll make it out?” said Polecatsky.

“He’s closing in on city limits as it is,” said Couguarez, gesturing to a map of the Meadowlands on the wall behind her. “Borough Chief Cervussen says he’s putting up roadblocks on the A15 and A12 leading out of the city, so he won’t be getting out of the city by any of the major highways, and all Climate Wall access points are heavily monitored, so he can’t get into Tundratown without us knowing.

“There’s only one problem,” said Couguarez, pointing to the northwestern edge of the Meadowlands. “There’s quite a few access roads to either exurbs or industrial facilities around this area. He _could_ conceivably squeeze his way through this region. Cervussen and I have got patrols going around this area.”

“And Precinct 1’s lending a few extra cars,” piped up McHorn.

“Right,” said DePardus, “But I’m worried that they might not have much more luck than SV2 did on the A15. Without Zeeplabors, the most they could do is tell us where the truck and/or Labor are.”

“Well, that’s a good thing, isn’t it?” huffed Buckminster. “As long as that truck is here in the city, we stand a better chance of nabbing those crooks.”

“With respect, sir,” said Polecatsky. “As long as that machine is in the city, and has a pilot willing to damage city property, we run the risk of civilian casualties.”

Buckminster winced.

“Where’s the truck now?” said Bogo

“By the time we got choppers in the sky, the thing had up and vanished,” said McHorn. “Witness reports have a vehicle matching the semi’s description heading off the A15. The good news is that the Labor started transmitting GPS coordinates when it activated against Division 1. I’ve got the coordinates on my phone now.” The rhino glanced at his device. “Yeah… He’s outpaced the cruisers, but it looks like he’s stopped in the industrial park. If we’re lucky, the pilot’s decided to cut his losses and dump the fuzzin’ thing.”

“Good to know,” said Bogo, glancing over McHorn’s shoulder turning to Buckminster. “But that’s still too close to city limits for my liking, so I’d like to request permission to exit the city under Code 37.”

Buckminster sighed. “You do realize that approving, delaying, or denying that permission would be up to Otterside County’s discretion?”

“I do,” said Bogo, his gaze seeming to bore a hole into the opposite wall. “But that just means I have nothing to lose by applying for it now.”

* * *

“’Dis ain’t how it was supposed ta happen!” groaned Duke Weaselton, backing away from the badger walking up to him. “I just wanted a getaway car! I didn’t know ‘bout none ‘a this!”

He’d pulled the truck over after making sure he’d lost any pursuers and tried running away from the truck, only for the badger to climb out of the stolen Labor and confront him, backing him against a chain link fence.

“Just answer the damn question!” growled the badger. “Who are you and where’s Tigrillo?!”

“Who, the cat?” said Weaselton. “I just saw the door was open and I jumped in and hit the gas! I didn’t know nuttin’ ‘bout no fancy Labor!”

“Are you with the Liberty Army?” the badger raised an eyebrow.

“The what?”

“The Liberty Army! The right hand of the Inner Wild Front!” grumbled the badger. “How do you not know that?!”

“I don’t deal with the IWF,” said Weaselton. “I just copy an’ sell movies.”

“A bootlegger?” The badger moved his muzzle in closer. “So you’d say you’re on the low end of the social totem pole?”

“Well, uh… I’d say so?” What was this wacko getting at?

“So… You’re a victim same as the rest of us!” The badger gave a hearty pat on the back to his fellow mustelid. “A victim of the illusion of harmony and the hypocrisy of the elites!”

“Ah, well, uh…” What was Weaselton supposed to make of this?

“Come along, comrade!” chuckled the badger, clapping his paws together. “We’ve got work to do!”

* * *

“Adrian?” Captain Bogo looked up from Precinct 34’s near-empty water cooler to glance at Captain Polecatsky, who was walking up to him, brow furrowed. “I want to get to the bottom of this. Buckminster says the MSS Labors are still en route, right?”

“Yes?” The buffalo arched an eyebrow.

“But I’ve just got word from some of the rank-and-file here that two unknown Labors were recently sighted in an industrial park near the exit to the A15 tunnel.” The skunk promptly did a handstand, which told Bogo that something was wrong. “The thing is, the descriptions of these Labors match Megafauna Growl-Bears.”

Bogo straightened up. “You think MSS is acting on their own?”

“That’s what I thought, too.” Polecatsky began ‘pacing’ up and down the floor, still in her handstand. “But why would they? The MRX is their Labor. They want it back as much as we do. They have more to gain by working _with_ us. Why go behind our backs?”

“Why indeed…?” Bogo stared at the bottom of his now-empty paper cup

“You don’t know?” Polecatsky got back on her feet.

“No.” Bogo took one last swig of water. “But I think I know someone who might.”

Just then, McHorn came thundering down the hall, eyes affixed to his phone.

“What’s going on?” said Polecatsky.

“Target’s on the move again,” panted the rhino. “The MRX-70’s makin’ for one of the industrial side streets leading out of city limits.”

“Any word on my clearance from Otterside County?” said Bogo.

“Still processing, last I checked,” McHorn glanced at his phone again. “You’d have to talk to Buckminster.”

“Does he know the MRX is moving?” asked Bogo.

“I just told him,” said McHorn as he started continuing on his way to Captain Couguarez’s office.

“I see…” Bogo pinched the bridge of his nose, crushing the paper cup in his other hoof.

* * *

 _“So why are you asking me about this Labor?”_ came Nick Wilde’s voice through Bogo’s receiver.

“You worked at I.H.I.; you know more about the big Labor-makers,” explained Bogo.

He and Polecatsky had discreetly moved to Bogo’s cruiser, situated in the crowded parking lot of Precinct 34. Now Polecatsky sat in the passenger seat while Bogo hailed his officer.

 _“Yeah, well, I never actually worked at Megafauna. I just caught whispers about the place, so all I got was the occasional rumor about what they were doing,”_ explained the fox. _“And security there is extra-tight, so it’s real hard to tell what’s true and what’s not.”_

“It’ll have to do,” said Bogo. “Now tell me, Wilde; why would Megafauna be so hell-bent on retrieving the MRX-70 before us?”

 _“Who knows?”_ said Nick. _“There’s been all sorts of rumors and allegations of shady business practices at Megafauna, but no one’s ever been able to prove anything – plausible deniability and all that.”_

Polecatsky’s brow furrowed.

 _“Although…”_ continued Nick. _“…Megafauna’s recently rolled out this state-of-the-art military Labor, the Furocken. Since then, there’ve been rumors that they’re planning to make even bigger and badder military hardware. After seeing that 42-millimeter handgun the MRX-70’s packing, I’m a little more willing to believe that.”_

Bogo suddenly heard a rustling sound as Polecatsky began frenetically leafing through the papers Buckminster had given her. Eventually, she clambered onto the dashboard of Bogo’s cruiser and grabbed the buffalo’s eyeglasses. Then Polecatsky jumped back down and began using the glasses as a makeshift magnifying glass to examine some of the fine print. The more she read, the more her teeth began to clench.

“Unbelievable…!” the skunk seethed under her breath.

“What?” said Bogo.

“Excuse me.” Polecatsky laid down the glasses, opened the door to the cruiser, and began walking on her hands back toward Precinct 34.

 _“What’s wrong, sir?”_ came Nick’s voice.

“Nothing,” grunted Bogo. “Keep me posted. I’ll let you know when we get clearance for city limits. Over and out.”

Just then, there was a knock on Bogo’s car door. He leaned out his window and stared down at Lieutenant Marvin Sanderson.

“Oh, it’s you, sir,” piped up the sand cat. “I was wondering if you’d seen Captain Polecatsky.”

“You just missed her,” said Bogo. “She’s inside.”

“Thank you, sir.” Sanderson began to amble off.

“Sanderson,” Bogo opened his door so he could lean out to properly see the cat. “Just out of curiosity, what are your thoughts about Division 1’s Pythons?”

“Well, they get the job done…” Sanderson shrugged. “But even some civilian Labors are starting to outpace ‘em. The sooner we get some new tech like your Ingrowls, the better.”

“Have you heard about this Labor we’re chasing?” said Bogo.

“That it’s a prototype of something we’re gonna get? Yeah. I did.”

“I see…” Bogo sighed. “You might find Polecatsky wherever Buckminster is. I’d suggest talking to Captain Couguarez if you can’t find either of them.”

“Thank you, sir.” Sanderson turned to leave.

Bogo had the feeling that something big was in the works. If he just knew _what_ …!

* * *

Duke Weaselton’s teeth chattered as the truck trundled down the deserted side streets. Brock – the badger in the MRX-70 – had instructed Weaselton to continue driving the truck to Beachville, where a ship was waiting to carry the stolen Labor to mammals willing to buy it. The money would be used to fund the IWF at large.

Hopefully he then he could find a way out of the country and forget this whole mess ever happened.

A smile etched its way onto the weasel’s muzzle when the truck passed a “CITY LIMITS” sign. Hopefully now he wouldn’t have to worry about the cops.

The truck passed through a wooded area, eventually passing onto a dirt road.

Just then, lights appeared out the right side of the truck. Before Weaselton could react, there was a loud crunch, and the weasel suddenly felt the truck jerk violently to the left. The last thing he saw was the ditch on the side of the road.

* * *

When Weaselton came to, he felt the glass of the driver’s-side window against his cheek. As his senses returned, it slowly came to him that the truck was now tipped onto its side at a 45-degree angle as one side leaned against the wall of the ditch.

Groggily, Weaselton pulled himself up into the other side of the cab, and heaved the passenger-side door open. As he clambered out, he saw the looming form of a Labor ambling toward the trailer, with another close behind.

It had a very short, squat head, a pair of disproportionally long arms with three-fingered hands, and smooth, rounded armor. The only “face” it had was an obvious camera that poked out of the head.

Obviously, one of them had slammed into the truck and forced it off the road.

Whoever these guys were, they were _not_ with the ZPD. They’d probably do more to him and Brock than escort them out of here in cuffs.

Quickly, he jumped off the side of the truck, slid down the roof, and ran over to where the MRX-70 had collapsed beside the ditch. After a short bit of rooting around, he yanked on an emergency release switch for the cockpit, and the hatch opened.

Inside, Brock was slumped against the side of the cockpit.

“Hey, y’alright?!” Weaselton tried to rouse the badger.

Brock wearily raised his head. “Y-you gotta get this thing to Beachville… I’m counting on you…”

The badger’s head slumped back down. Weaselton pressed his head against his chest. Brock was still breathing. His injuries obviously weren’t life-threatening.

Weaselton’s heart stopped as he heard the two unidentified Labors approaching the truck. Thinking quickly, he dragged Brock out of the cockpit, depositing him beside the truck’s cab, then dashed back inside.

In the cockpit, he quickly booted the MRX-70 up. He hadn’t driven Labors for long, but he still figured it was enough to get this crate up and running.

Shakily, the MRX-70 stood up just as the two new Labors approached. After switching on his machine’s lights, Weaselton took in the ‘MSS’ printed in white lettering across the dark green machines’ chests.

The weasel quickly stumbled the MRX-70 forward, crashing through the trees.

* * *

As one of the MSS Growl-Bears went after the MRX-70, the other approached the toppled semitrailer.

“Hind 1 to Trap 1,” reported its hare pilot. “The truck has been apprehended. The Doll is mobile and is making a break for it. Hind 2 is in pursuit.”

 _“What about the Package?”_ came Trap 1’s voice.

The hare knelt down his Growl-Bear, opened up his cockpit, and then stepped out to have a look at the truck’s trailer. Quickly, he felt around the bed of the trailer before pulling up the lid of a secret compartment.

“Package secure,” said the hare, taking in the range of prototype missiles (thankfully unloaded), before abruptly closing the lid. “One of the thieves is out cold by the road. He hasn’t seen anything as far as I can tell.”

 _“Good,”_ said Trap 1. _“Removal crew is en route. Place the thief you have in your custody. Make sure he knows nothing. Once the removal crew arrives, join Hind 2. Over and out.”_

* * *

Lieutenant Marvin Sanderson wasn’t used to Precinct 34’s office layout, and having to dodge the countless larger mammals around him didn’t help.

Eventually, he caught the sound of his Captain’s voice and hasted toward the open door of Precinct 34’s bullpen.

However, Sanderson stopped before entering the room, as he heard the voice of Bureau Chief Buckminster as well. No sense interrupting in case their meeting was important.

Sanderson listened intently for when the conversation would end, but soon enough, his ears pricked as his superior’s voice grew more intense.

“You’re making too much out of this, Polecatsky,” said Buckminster.

“Sir, I am not,” said Polecatsky. “I have the paperwork right here. It says that only Megafauna’s in-house mechanics would be permitted to so much as touch the MRX-70 outside of deployments. It also says that those mechanics have the right to not disclose any information on the Labor’s workings to the pilots or any other police staff.”

“So?”

“ _So_ , my mammals need to know how their machines work! It’s common sense!” said Polecatsky. “I used to be a Forward – you have to know your Labor like the back of your paw. If I were saddled with a machine like this, I’d rather find out about its workings and OS in the hangar than out on a deployment.”

“I’m sure they won’t withhold that much from you, Polecatsky,” said Buckminster, a note of annoyance edging into his voice.

“That’s not all, sir,” said Polecatsky. Sanderson then caught the sounds of rustling papers before the Captain continued. “It also says that Megafauna will retain the rights to all movement data generated by the pilots – in fact, that it will be secured offsite in Megafauna’s proving grounds. My mammals won’t even be given their key drives when on standby.”

“Polecatsky,” Buckminster huffed. “This is purely a security precaution so that Megafauna can develop better police Labors in future. It’s not too different from Division 2’s arrangement from I.H.I.”

“Are you sure it’s police Labors, sir?” Acid seeped into Polecatsky’s voice. “Division 2’s arrangement with Inaba only extends to general mechanical performance. The ZPD still has the rights to the Ingrowls’ movement data. How will I know what Megafauna is doing with my mammals’ data?”

Buckminster paused. “What are you getting at, Polecatsky?”

The skunk spoke firmly and slowly. “What assurance do I have that Division 1’s movement data won’t be used in the development of non-police Labors without their consent?”

Buckminster laughed. “Non-police Labors? Like what?”

Polecatsky’s voice was ice-cold. “Like military Labors.”

Silence fell in the bullpen.

Marvin Sanderson’s teeth clenched, and his ears folded back. His tail twitched every which way as he edged away from the door.

* * *

In the depths of the night, the MRX-70 surged onward. Weaselton could count his lucky stars that the prototype Zeeplabor was such a fast runner.

Still, his machine’s sensors (hallelujah for powerful sensors!) could pick out the Growl-Bear behind him.

Weaselton thought about pulling out the handgun, but decided against it. Best not give the Growl-Bear time to catch up. Besides, Weaselton had barely been able to handle a section of concrete piping. He wasn’t about to try his luck with a Labor-sized handgun – he’d never even handled a mammal-sized gun.

As the MRX-70, stumbled through the thick woods, Weaselton did a double-take as he realized he was beginning to lose the pursuing Labor. Sure, the ground had started to incline downward, but still – this crazy Labor really was something!

Grinning, the weasel contemplated stripping it for parts and selling it.

But suddenly, his machine started blaring alarms. The words 'PROXIMITY ALERT' had been flashing over his screen in yellow letters since going into the woods. No doubt it was because of the trees. But this time, the lettering turned red as the alarm sounded.

Through the night vision-equipped monitors, Weaselton caught the sight of another Labor heading his way. His hands flew to the control levers, and tried to get the machine to stop, but he hadn’t accounted for the downward slope, and the MRX-70 tumbled right into the other machine.

Weaselton made his machine clamber off the interloper, regarding their Labor. It was a pale blue, Inaba-made ASV-99 'Boxer' – a construction Labor he’d seen a couple times in his training.

The Boxer was a lanky machine with tubular limbs and a “head” that was really a mounting point for two powerful lights – one of which had broken in the collision.

The newcomer’s glass-shielded cockpit opened and a coati wearing glasses poked his head out. “Nice to see you too, Brock,” he grumbled, rubbing his head. “When we heard the news about a rogue Labor in the Meadowlands, we knew it had to be you and the MRX. I offered to go and back you up.”

Weaselton gawked. _More_ IWF nutjobs?!

Suddenly, there was the sound of rocks tumbling down the hillside. Weaselton clenched his teeth as he realized he’d forgotten about the Growl-Bear.

The MRX-70 and Boxer backed away a little as the Growl-Bear slid down to the bottom of the hill.

What else could happen tonight?!

Just then, a set of lights cut through the trees. All three Labors looked up to the source, to see that the Labor frontal lamps were accompanied by flashing red-and-blue lights of a ZPD Ingrowl.

“This is the Police!” came a female voice. “Power down your Labors immediately!”


	3. "I ain't bluffin'!"

Inside Robin, Judy Hopps’s hands tightly gripped the control levers. Had Captain Bogo’s Code 37 clearance finished processing any later, the trail might have gone cold. Furthermore, Unit 2’s decapitation necessitated sending it back to SV2 for repairs, so it was down to her, Nick, and Robin now.

“I repeat,” Judy announced. “If you do not power down your machines and step out of your cockpits, we will have to use force.”

“Officers,” a voice came through Robin’s comm. systems – doubtless from the MSS Growl-Bear. “I’m with Megafauna Security Services. The MRX-70 is in _my_ custody.”

“It doesn’t look like it to me,” said Nick, poking his head out of his command car a safe distance behind Unit 1. “And since it’s two-against-one without us, I’d say you’re outgunned.”

“You’re outside your jurisdiction.” The MSS pilot’s voice was very level, but annoyance was beginning to edge into it.

“We have official clearance from Otterside County PD,” said Judy. “This case is _our_ responsibility now.”

“There is nothing preventing me from making a citizen’s arrest,” said the MSS pilot.

“Except the fact that they’re getting away!” Nick piped up, pointing to the Boxer, which was shoving the MRX-70 away from the other two Labors.

“Hey!” Judy and the Growl-Bear pilot chorused, as their machines charged after the two rogue Labors.

* * *

“We gotta find a way to get these guys off our tails!” panted the coati, using the Boxer’s loudspeakers to communicate with the MRX-70. “Your gun! Can’t you use your gun?!”

“I dunno how to use it,” said Weaselton, using his own speakers.

“What th-“ The Boxer suddenly stopped. “You’re not Brock! What’s going on here?!”

Just then, the Growl-Bear jumped the Boxer from behind, and the two machines began grappling with each other.

Weaselton tried to back away from the struggle, but suddenly his machine’s proximity sensors went red again, and he narrowly dodged a lunge from Robin’s stun-stick.

“He’s mine!” growled the otter piloting the MSS Growl-Bear, suddenly abandoning the Boxer to dash towards the MRX-70.

“S-stay back,” grumbled Weaselton, backing the MRX-70 away before breaking into a full-tilt run.

“Hey!” said Judy.

“Get back here!” spat the coati.

“Stop!” yelled the MSS otter.

“Can’t we all just get along?!” muttered Nick, as he started his command car after the four Labors.

Weaselton screamed. What had he done to deserve this?!

Not being built for running, the Boxer was easily outpaced by the Growl-Bear and Ingrowl. However, as the Growl-Bear passed it, the coati made his machine deliver a punch that knocked the MSS Labor on the ground. But this came at the expense of the Boxer’s left hand, which couldn’t take the sudden shock of the punch, and now the fingers dangled uselessly.

Before the dazed, but more heavily armored Growl-Bear could pick itself up though, the Boxer had already broken into a sprint after the other two Labors.

* * *

Lieutenant Marvin Sanderson walked up to his superior, who was sipping from a coffee cup in Precinct 34’s breakroom, making an effort to distance herself from the larger officers.

“Captain? Are you alright?” said Sanderson.

“I’m fine…” Polecatsky sighed before staring at Sanderson. “Sanderson, I know you’ve been eager to ditch the Pythons. Does the upgrade really mean that much to you?”

The sand cat bit his tongue, then averted his eyes, ears drooping. “I overheard your talk with Buckminster.”

Polecatsky seemed to deflate, tail dropping. “You know all about it then…”

“Not _all_ about it,” said Sanderson. “Where do things stand with you and Buckminster now?”

“He’s still dead set on it,” said Polecatsky. “Better question is; where does it stand with you and the others?”

Sanderson sighed. “Speaking for myself, much as I’d like the new tech, I’d rather know what kind of machine I’m piloting.”

Polecatsky shook her head and studied her cup. “But where does that leave us now? Megafauna’s got Buckminster’s ear. What do _we_ have?”

Suddenly, a voice piped up as Howard Hylander and Earl Beaverbrook entered the room.

“Forty-two millimeters, Beaverbrook! Forty-two!” chuckled Hylander. “Could you imagine if we had ammunition like that?”

Sanderson then caught a kangaroo officer whispering to an elephant. “Wasn’t that hyrax the one that got his head taken off by an overpass or somethin’?”

“Yeah,” muttered the elephant officer. “Division 2’s a bunch of nutcases from what I hear.”

Sanderson then turned back to Polecatsky. “Captain? I might have an idea…”

* * *

One thing Judy was grateful for was the Ingrowl’s impressive speed and agility. She didn’t think she’d have been able to get over the uneven, overgrown terrain of the woods otherwise.

Still, the MRX-70 was also fast and agile. Judy contemplated using her revolver cannon, but decided against it. Getting shots off in a Labor while running was risky. Besides, close-quarters combat was her specialty.

The chase continued downhill until they reached a road. In the MRX, Weaselton breathed a little easier. Running had been hard enough in the woods. Hopefully he’d get a little faster now.

Sparks flew from the MRX-70’s feet as it skidded into a sharp turn on the asphalt and then bolted down the road. However, Robin and its command car were close behind.

_[[OST1]](https://youtu.be/U_KvHvA9aDo) _

Soon, the sprinting Labors reached a bridge that ran over a gully, with a fast-flowing river at the bottom.

Weaselton’s proximity alarms went off again and he ducked a right hook from Robin, then took a few steps back as the Ingrowl reached for its stun stick.

Just then, an idea occurred to Weaselton. He knew how he could get out of the situation – but he’d have to put some space between him and the cops first. If he could just- _there!_

“Stay back!” said Weaselton as the shoulder compartment opened and the MRX-70 pulled out the massive handgun, pointing it at the Zeeplabor. “I-I got a gun!”

Judy made Robin take a step back.

Weaselton sighed as Robin began to back off. Now he could just step to the edge of the bridge and- _Aw fitch_ the cop-Labor was pulling its gun out.

“I-I ain’t bluffin’,” squeaked Weaselton.

Somehow Judy doubted that. Nick had too. Hopefully the standoff would sweat the weasel into giving up.

The two Labors stood on opposite ends of the bridge, guns trained at each other as the sunrise trickled over the wooded hills, onto the bridge.

Suddenly, Nick’s voice squawked through Robin’s comms systems. “Carrots, watch your six!”

Judy swiveled Robin around, but was unable to fully react in time. Robin was soon thrust backward, slamming into the MRX. The latter was able to peer over the Ingrowl’s shoulder to perceive the Boxer, which had slammed its shoulder into Robin’s chest, forcing it into the MRX.

“I’ll take care of you both,” growled the coati, grabbing Robin by the head, and swinging it into the guardrail at the side of the bridge. Judy’s revolver cannon tumbled over the side and into the water.

“Lousy cops!” yelled the coati, making the Boxer grab its flailing left arm, yanking it until it ripped off at the shoulder, then slamming the arm into Robin like a mace over and over.

Judy was swung around in her cockpit as static flickered across her monitors. Obviously the Ingrowl’s head-mounted cameras were taking damage, and she couldn’t raise her cockpit and rely on direct visuals, lest she get hit directly by the Boxer’s severed arm. An attack with her stun stick would be difficult under these conditions.

Just then, there was a terrific bang, and the Boxer suddenly dropped the severed arm, hydraulic fluid spewing from its right shoulder. The coati’s Labor turned to see the MRX-70, its gun shakily pointed at the Boxer. Now both the Boxer’s arms were disabled.

“I knew it!” said the coati. “You’re a plant!”

The Boxer then tried charging the MRX-70, ready to headbutt the other machine. Weaselton promptly fired another shot that ripped through the Boxer’s hip, and it fell to the ground, unable to stand up.

Judy groggily made Robin stand up. Why had the MRX-70 saved her?

* * *

Duke Weaselton panted, the MRX-70’s revolver cannon still trained on the prostrate Boxer before dropping the gun entirely. Why had he just saved the Zeeplabor?! He could’ve just run off while the other two Labors were fighting each other.

Just then, the sound of Labor-sized footsteps approached the bridge. It was the MSS Growl-Bear. Suddenly, Robin swung forward and before Weaselton could react, the MRX-70’s arms were pinned behind its back, and it was forced to kneel down beside the side of the bridge.

“Power down your Labor immediately,” said Judy over her loudspeakers. Weaselton sighed, then reached for the Labor’s power switch. No sense resisting now.

Robin’s head then turned to the Growl-Bear. “This Labor and its pilot are now in police custody,” said Judy. “Any attempt to take it now will be considered obstruction of an officer in the course of their duties.”

The Growl-Bear ground to a halt.

“Sorry,” said Nick Wilde through his command car’s loudspeakers. “That’s all, folks! Nothin’ to see here. Move along!”

Weaselton sighed, but then realized something. The MRX-70 was facing the side of the bridge. His original plan sprang to mind again.

Thinking quickly, he opened the hatch, then leapt out of the machine.

“Hey!” Judy gasped, taking Robin’s hands off the MRX-70. Too late; Weaselton had flown over the bridge’s guardrail, and landed in the water with a splash.

Judy and Nick looked downriver, unable to see anything below the white-tipped rapids. There was no sign that the weasel was coming back up.

* * *

“I see,” said Bogo into his radio as he stood outside the Precinct 34 building. “No, don’t worry about that. He’s without his Labor now. Dead or alive, you’d best leave him to Otterside County. Just report back to SV2. Over and out.”

Bogo pocketed his radio and sighed. At least the MRX-70 had been retrieved.

“Adrian?” Bogo turned to see Polecatsky ambling up to him.

“Any progress with Buckminster?” said Bogo.

“I think so,” said Polecatsky, glancing up at the dawn. “He’s a lot less willing to accept Megafauna’s demands now.”

Bogo smiled. “How’d you manage it?”

Polecatsky chuckled, eyebrow twitching. “It’s embarrassing, really.”

“What?” said Bogo. Polecatsky hadn’t sacrificed something over this, had she?

The skunk sighed. “I told Buckminster I would only accept the MRX-70s on the condition that you and your team would be equipped with the new 42-mil revolver cannons.”

Bogo’s brow rose.

Polecatsky grimaced. “You’re not mad, are you?”

“It’s a cynical move,” sighed Bogo. “But honestly, I’d have done the same thing. I’ll worry about my Division’s reputation; you worry about yours.”

* * *

Duke Weaselton’s eyes nervously flickered around the bus station waiting room.

Hedgehog Grove was pretty much a hole in the wall. Its ‘bus station’ was barely a wooden shack. Duke could count his lucky stars he’d washed up here. He had just enough money to buy himself a bus ticket to San Ardillo. Hopefully there, he’d find himself a way across the border. It’d be hard setting himself up in El Centro, but now that he’d gotten himself mixed up with the IWF, Zootopia – hell, Malaika was just too hot to hold him.

Still, that big goat with the twirly horns sitting across from him (what did they call them? Markers?) creeped the weasel out, the way he just sat there with his arms crossed. And what was with that red panda sitting next to him? Did he have to play that stupid game app so loudly?!

Still, Weaselton could say nothing; no sense calling attention to himself.

However, the glasses-wearing red panda had other ideas. “WHOO-HOO! New high score!” he yelled, before getting out of the bench and making laser noises while pantomiming guns.

“Victory selfie!” piped up the panda, throwing an arm around Weaselton and snapping a photo of his toothily grinning muzzle smushed next to Weaselton’s utterly flabbergasted face.

_[[OST2]](https://youtu.be/rYV67uGsHZw) _

It took a few seconds for the events to sink in. “Uh…” Weaselton stared at the phone. “Yer not gonna post ‘dat photo anywhere are ya?”

“Sure!” said the red panda, grinning as he sat back in the bench and typed into his phone. “This is _so_ going on Chitter! ‘Just got new hashtag-CandyCruncher HS here @ hashtag-HedgehogGrove w/ weasel fugitive!”

Weaselton’s eyes bulged.

The red panda continued, not taking his eyes off his phone. “It is _so_ incredulous that the ZPD has its own Chitter account – the local PD too. All I have to do is tag ‘em all!”

Weaselton dashed for the waiting room door, but the twirly-horned goat (a markhor, Weaselton would later learn) had suddenly put himself in front of the door and grabbed the weasel by the collar of his tank top.

“Ooh, gotta snap this!” the red panda then took a picture of the Weasel dangling as the burly markhor raised him off the floor. “That’d make a great follow-up once I send that first Chit!”

“W-whaddya want?!” said Weaselton, trying to wiggle his way out of the markhor’s hoof. “I got no money!”

“Oh, I don’t want money,” said the panda, getting off the bench and walking up to Weaselton, _finally_ taking his eyes off his phone. “Actually, I’d like to _give_ you money!”

“Say what?” Weaselton stopped struggling, staring at the red panda, jaw hanging open.

“I’ve got a _humongo_ job offer for you,” said the panda, adjusting his glasses. “I mean, since you’re, you know, on the run from the law and you’ve just got experience working with Megafauna tech, I’d say you’re a good fit for this kind of work – and wait ‘til you see our dental plan; it’s just _ca-ray-zaaayyy!_ ”

Weaselton’s head cocked.

The red panda’s bright blue eyes suddenly narrowed, though his grin remained. “Though of course, I _could_ just call up the Hedgehog Grove Sheriff and/or the ZPD and fork you over.” The red panda then turned his striped tail to the suspended weasel, rubbing his chin. “Now which would be less trouble?”

“No, no!” said Weaselton. “I’ll do it! I’ll take yer offer! Now put me down!”

“Fantastico!” said the red panda, turning back to the weasel and taking out his phone again. “I’m Mr. Bright and I’m your boss now. Welcome to the team!” Weaselton soon found himself in another unwanted embrace. “Employment selfie!”

* * *

** THIS IS AN AU, BUT IN TEN YEARS, WHO KNOWS…? **

_[[OST-PV]](https://youtu.be/ppx5VEej7BU) _

** NEXT TIME: **

**Flash:** “On the…”

 **Nick:** “Carrots? What’s got you down?”

 **Judy:** “Do you think I’m really that reckless?”

 **Flash:** “…next…”

 **Nick:** “I… don’t feel up to answering that question.”

 **Judy:** “I’ve just been hearing some complaints lately.”

 **Flash:** “… _Zeep_ … _labor_ ;…”

 **Lee:** “I think the crux of the matter is your tunnel vision. But how to deal with that…?”

 **Flash:** “A... Life of…’”

 **Nick:** “Hang on… Maybe something will come to me.”

 **Flash:** “…’Sloth’.”

 **Bogo:** “No time for that now. We’ve got bigger problems. There’s been a series of ram-raids in the Canal District and Precinct 19 wants Division 2’s help.”

 **Flash:** “ _Target:_ …”

 **Bogo:** “Also, what’s that sloth doing here?!”

 **Lee:** “Closing catchphrase, sir.”

 **Flash:** “… _Locked_ …”

 **Nick:** “That’s it! He’s the answer to everything!”

 **Bogo:** “What.”

 **Flash:** “… _On!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **BACKGROUND MUSIC:**
> 
>  
> 
> 1) Kenji Kawai - "Upcoming Anxiety" - from _Patlabor - the Movie_
> 
> 2) Kenji Kawai - "Shadow of Griffon" - from _Patlabor - The Mobile Police_ TV series
> 
> PV) Kenji Kawai - "Scramble" - from _Patlabor - The Mobile Police_ TV series
> 
>  
> 
> Whew! Glad that's done with! Unfortunately, I'm still working on the next serial, so you may be in for a wait. Sorry...
> 
> On another note, I've decided to start hiving off serials 2 and 3 from "The Early Days" - you'll notice that "Playing the Possum" is now a separate work, while "The Early Days" is now a duology. Once I get the time, I might completely rewrite "The Right Staff" and "Robin of Foxley" and split them into two separate works as well.


End file.
